


Could've Been

by proximally



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proximally/pseuds/proximally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History is made of moments, of split-second decisions and knock-on effects. So, if the dice fell another way…?</p><p>(five times the show could've taken a very different turn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could've Been

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Phanniemay15 Days 7-9: Alternate Universe. I intended to do ten of these drabbly things, and I more or less know which AUs I want to cover in the other five but I hit something of a block. 
> 
> One day. One day I will write the rest.

I.

His parents have been working on this monstrosity for _years_. He always felt some strange mix of jealousy and pride, every time he spotted it - pride, because it was his parents’ magnum opus, set to eclipse everything else they had ever created. Jealousy, because- well, it was set to eclipse everything else they had ever created. Since the first drafts of the thing’s blueprints, all those years ago, he’d only been seeing less of them. Before - well, not before, but earlier, further from the switch-on date - they had been there for every breakfast, lunch and dinner. They insisted that Sunday night was Family Night, and sometimes on a long weekend they’d go somewhere special. As much as he’d grumbled and moaned - he _was_ a teenager, after all - he’d enjoyed those days. From making faces at the camera to devastating his opponents in Monopoly, he’d not-so-secretly relished the time spent with his family.

He misses it.

These days, he and Jazz are lucky if they see their parents once in twenty-four hours. They’re always down in the lab, keeping odd hours and only rarely venturing into the kitchen to acquire coffee and a sandwich. Jazz is the one who nags him to tidy his room, do his homework, do the laundry, just like Mum once had. He takes over the responsibility of dinners pretty quickly, once he realises that his sister is the worst cook to ever grace the surface of the planet, and that, _no_ , no matter how hard you might want to, you cannot live on takeaways alone. Jazz spends increasing amounts of time at the library, and he with his friends, just to be out of the house.

So when the Great Switch-On comes around, when years of planning and inventing result in such a catastrophic failure, when Sam tries to convince him to take a step inside-

-he says ‘No.’

II.

He’s awoken by an all-too-familiar burst of cold air, rising from his lungs and out into the much warmer air of the bedroom. It’s late, probably late enough to be early. The bed is warm and comfortable and he is reluctant to leave, but he knows that despite his exhaustion he won’t be heading back to Slumberland any time soon. He sighs; can’t the ghosts just leave him alone for once? But no, apparently not. “Just what I need,” he grumbles to himself, “a working vacation.” He reaches inside himself, and flips the switch to spark the transformation, shuddering as the glowing rings strip away his humanity. He wonders if he’ll ever really get used to it.

He floats through the dark mansion, absently watching the dancing shadows cast by his ghostly glow as he searches for the intruder that set off his early warning. He hears footsteps above him - loud and heavy in the stillness; his dad, probably. No ghost would be so noisy, and nobody else here has the kind of weight needed to put such force in every step. Turning invisible and intangible, he pokes his head up through the floor and has to stifle a gasp. His father, as expected, trudges down the corridor, but behind him lies the reason the ghost-boy is awake.

Danny swiftly grabs his dad’s feet, and phases them through the floor and into a bathroom before the ghost vultures have a chance to strike. Family safe, he phases up through the ceiling, fully prepared for round two - except the birds flee as soon as he makes himself known. He frowns. Too easy. _Far_ too easy. He turns and, sure enough, the difficulty presents itself. A humanoid ghost, red-eyed and clothed in white. The cape is a little OTT in his opinion, but that might just be the jealousy speaking. Every time he suggested a superhero cape, his friends immediately shot him down; life is so unfair.

“Ah, bright boy,” it says, a smile stretching its way over the ghost’s teeth to reveal pointed fangs. It seems amused, and that only irritates Danny more.

“Oh, whatever,” he says, “I was aiming for the _birds_ , but you’ll do!” He throws a knockout punch, fueled by ghostly strength and teenage hostility, but the ghost catches his fist and launches him smoothly into the wall. It _hurts_ , and he wonders if the crunch he heard wasn’t just the wall. This ghost was _fast_.

Time for a new tactic; no more fooling around. Danny charges, quickly gathering speed, only for the ghost to seize him by the throat and throw him to the floor again.

“My vultures were supposed to bring the big idiot to me, but you’ll do,” the ghost mimics, smirking in its apparent victory. “Danny Phantom - _right?”_

“You- you _know_ me?” gasps Danny. This isn’t right. Something about this ghost screams wrongness in a way no other spectre he’s ever met has.

“Of course I know you!” it laughs, and floats backwards through the wall. The ghost-boy is about to follow, but something stops him - this ghost, so easily had it defeated him, so easily had it countered each and every move. The smirking, the smugness - that wasn’t just arrogance, that was _confidence_ , and not false confidence either. This ghost is stronger than any other he’s faced so far. This is a _trap_ , one Danny could conceivably not get out of alive - or as alive as usual, anyway. He isn’t prepared for this - doesn’t even have a thermos on him. If he was going to fight this ghost and win, he'd need backup, and three o’clock in the morning is not a good time for that.

A decision is made, and Danny sinks quickly through the floor before the ghost realises its trap failed. He’ll go back to his room, for now; hopefully it would get bored and leave now that there’s nothing to fight, but if it doesn’t his room is close enough to the rest of his family’s that he’ll sense the ghost if it comes this way and he can raise the alarm. His parents aren’t exactly _good_ ghost hunters, but they’re not _bad_ either, and there’s always the RV. If all goes well, in the morning he’ll convince his sister that they need to leave. Jazz can be frighteningly persuasive when she wants to be, and what better reason for an overprotective sister than a scared little brother? He hates the idea of running, but he hates the idea of dying more.

III.

“Um, is it me, or is this the worst Spirit Week in the history of Casper High Spirit Weeks?” Sam asked her friends, gesturing to the students trudging about the hall. They seemed almost zombie-like in their aimlessness, and many looked as if they had just barely found the willpower to find a clean shirt this morning. Heads bowed and shoulders hunched, they were the sorriest and least spirited bunch of people Sam had ever seen, and she attended goth poetry recitals every weekend.

The snatches of conversation the three overheard weren’t much better - from the jocks despairing over their future careers - or lack of - and the popular girls worried sick over their appearances, to the nerdier types wondering aloud if they would ever find true love, or if they really were smart enough to get into their university of choice. They were a mess, truly, and no matter how much Sam hated most of them, she couldn’t help but feel at least a little sorry for them.

“And to make it worse, we’re all gonna have to sit through Jazz’s idiotic speech when she tries to _‘put the ‘I’ back in ‘spirit’!’_ or some other _nonsense_ ,” growled Danny. Apparently whatever had gotten to the population of Casper High, it had gotten to him as well. It felt like she and Tucker were the only ones in the entire school who weren’t drowning in their own misery. Well, besides Jazz, who was practically _skipping_ down the hallway. “The heck is _she_ so happy about?” Danny muttered bitterly, levelling an irritated glare at his sister’s retreating back.

“Don’t ask me,” said Sam with a shrug. “ _I’m_ usually the sour one around here, but compared to everyone else, I’m the Goth Bird of Happiness.” It was completely surreal. Almost like she’d been transported to a mirror world where everyone was the opposite. Hell, with the way their lives had been recently, that wouldn’t even be that far of a stretch - the only thing that had her convinced that this was the same universe as the week before was that Paulina still cared more deeply about her makeup than her friends.

“Me too,” agreed Tucker, indeed sounding as cheerful as he’d ever been. “And we’re the only two people in this school who _haven’t_ had a session with Doctor Spectra.”

Something in Tucker’s comment made Danny pause. “Wait a minute, let me see something,” he said, grabbing for his friend’s omnipresent smartphone. The lockscreen presented no problem, much to Tucker’s annoyance, but Danny’s increasingly frantic expression made him stop before he’d even started. The ghost-boy flicked through his friend’s photo album desperately, before demanding, “Tell me you didn’t delete all those photos, Tuck. _Please._ ”

“Um...I thought you wanted them all destroyed, so, well, I _did..._ ”

Danny swore, and punched the lockers. Sam and Tucker exchanged glances at this - their phantom friend _never_ swore. Not even when Dash had chucked him in his locker for the fourth time that day, and right after he’d been smashed into the side of a building hard enough to leave a dent. “Ugh,” he said at last, rubbing his knuckles gingerly. “Never mind. I just- no. It doesn’t matter. It was a dumb idea anyway.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sam. “Didn’t seem like nothing to me.”

“I’m sure,” he huffed. “I’m just tired. Not thinking straight. All these darn ghosts are really getting to me, and my parents aren’t helping. I don’t know how Jazz does it.”

The trio trudged off to their first class - first, and only. The rest of the day would be taken up by Spirit Week-themed events, though frankly everyone would have preferred a day of normal lessons.

They were in the front row when the last ceremonial domino fell, activating the no longer harmless Spirit Sparklers.

IV.

“Great news, sweetheart!” exclaims her father from over by the window. “I’m getting one last chance! I convinced them to let me guard what’s left of the research lab while they rebuild.” he tells her, beaming.

“Oh, that’s great!” she says, smiling encouragingly. “How many of your employees can you put on it?”

His face falls at her inquiry, and the smile fades. “I...don’t have any more employees,” he sighs. “I have to guard it myself. At night. In _that,_ ” he says, gesturing to a dark blue uniform on a hook by the door.

“...Nice,” she says glumly. “And if things get worse, you can use that outfit to deliver packages.” She’s not _trying_ to be mean - it’s been a long and difficult week, and Damon won’t hold it against her. The _both_ of them have been snappish and irritable; watching your entire life crumble around you is not a pleasant experience for anyone.

“Which reminds me!” he exclaims, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “This arrived while you were at school today - from Wisconsin?” He hands her a large - and heavy - package, and is about to question her further - _what did you order, why did you order it, why from Wisconsin?_ \- but his wristwatch bleeps urgently before he can even start. “Whoa - don’t want to be late. Bye, sweetie,” he says, slipping the uniform into a bag and heading out. He can interrogate his daughter later - he can’t afford to mess this up.

Valerie frowns at the box. It seems innocuous enough, but she never ordered anything - where would she have gotten the money? Unless this is one’s Dad’s surprise presents- but no, he seemed just as surprised as she, and he would have mentioned it sooner, so he could be there when she opened it. Cautiously, she picks off the tape with her nails - such useful tools they were! - and lifts the flaps. There’s a slip of paper, nestled atop a sea of bubblewrap. She unfolds it, and the furrow in her brow grows deeper.

_Heard about your recent ghost troubles._

_Hope this helps._

_-Vlad_

Well, if that wasn’t incredibly suspicious then she’d eat her headband. She’d understand, maybe, if the package had been sent from Amity Park or the surrounding towns; everyone at Casper High knows how she’d been brought low by ghosts. But Wisconsin? That...is a little creepy.

Still, she ought at least find out what this ‘help’ is. She pushes the top layer of packaging aside, and gasps. This...this is a _gun_. A sleek, fancy, futuristic-looking gun, but a gun all the same. She unwraps it carefully, feels its weight in her hand, inspects it from every angle. She feels something give way under her fingers, and jerks the gun away from herself immediately - good thing, too, because the heat from the blast it emits feels like a furnace. If she’d reacted any later, she could have blown her own brains out. Holy _shit_. Who in their right mind would send something like this to a _fourteen-year-old?_

“Don’t know who you are, _‘Vlad’_ ,” she says faintly, “but if this thing does what I think it does, I’m reporting you to the police.”

 

V.

“Come on mister pouty-pants, this weekend is supposed to be about us!” exclaims Maddie, making expansive gestures at their surroundings. “Those DALV people sent this private jet, just for _us_ \- how perfect is _that?”_ If she started jumping for joy right now, Danny would not be surprised in the least. It is pretty cool, all things considered - sure, he’s been on a plane before, and he’s most certainly flown alone, but the luxury of a private jet is something he has never experienced. However, he’s still pissed at having his weekend plans ruined, and this plane feels entirely too much like something Vlad would own for comfort. There’s something wrong here that’s setting him on edge, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Do you want the truth,” he asks snappishly, “or one of those little white lies that doesn’t hurt your feelings?”

His mother sighs. “Forget it, Danny. Just look out the window at that warm, sunny Florida coastline…” she starts dreamily, before being cut off abruptly by the crackle of the intercom.

“Folks, this is your captain speaking. If you look out the window on your left, you’ll see the cold, bleak Colorado Rockies-”

“The _Rockies?”_ Danny yelps, the sense of dread suddenly feeling a lot more rational. “That’s nowhere _near_ Florida, what gives?”

“-and if you look out the window on your right, you’ll see me, bailing out of the plane before it careens out of control, _heh_ , and crashes!”

The sole passengers of the plane briefly share panicked expressions; just as the pilot announced, there he is, visible out of the right-hand window and waving cheerfully as he recedes into the distance.

Maddie reacts instantly and sprints to the recently vacated cockpit, Danny a moment behind but hot on her heels. She slides into the captain’s chair and puts all of her considerable strength into pulling the controls, to no avail.

“The controls are jammed, Danny, how do we get out of this?!” she yells over the warning bells. Maddie has never been one to panic, but there’s an edge creeping into her voice that makes Danny shiver. She’s always been the one to keep a level head, always the voice of reason in a crisis, always the one with a plan when the world goes to hell, so if _she’s_ panicking...

But no. It doesn’t matter. They’re trapped in a failing plane and the all-powerful Maddie is out of ideas, but he knows _one_ way they can survive. If she hates him for this afterwards... well, at least she’ll be alive to do so. He _pulls_ at the cold spot next to his heart and the cold washes over him like the kiss of the mesosphere, leaving him bereft of his mortality. There’s a split second of readjustment, then he plunges his gloved hands through the pilot’s seat to grip his mother’s shoulders-

-and he _screams_.

Electricity courses through his body, and though he has never truly been certain that he has anything like a circulatory system in ghost form, it sure feels as though every vein and capillary is on _fire_. Distantly, he feels his control over his powers slipping and sliding like Jazz in an ice rink, but the pain is worse than anything he’s ever experienced, nearly, and there’s nothing in him free from the blinding agony to care.

He hears a second note to his two-part harmony of anguish, hears the crash of a heavy metal object smashing glass - _isn’t aeroplane glass supposed a lot more durable than that?_ \- hears the ear-splitting rushing noise as the air is sucked out of the plane, and, all of a sudden, he can breathe again.

For a moment he just lays there, utterly spent from so many transformations in rapid succession. His fingers twitch spasmodically from the remaining current, but he slowly regains his self-control. He sits up carefully, waiting for the pain to return, but immediately throws caution to the wind when he notices his mother, clinging to the pilot seat with one arm and clapping her hands over her ears as best she can. A rivulet of crimson trickles from her nose.

Danny’s on his feet immediately, calling forth the white rings despite the shooting pain in his chest, and soon enough he’s sailing through the air with Maddie in his arms. He scans the ground for any signs of civilisation, but finds noth- _there!_ A road! It’s distant, but he can get there. He has to.

“D- _Danny?”_

Her voice is fragile, and the horror in it is nearly enough to break his heart.


End file.
